The Old Guard Novels & Stories

“I hope this is the end of that man with the dogs. He’s from the Hacks family and if anything bad happens to him, what are we going to do? “Besides, your grandfather will surely put the blame on us.” Kaze replied to her, “Don’t worry, Mom. I know what I’m doing. That man won’t die.” Little did everyone know, Agnes jinxed it. That night, after the members of the Guardians finished dinner, which was the dog stew, they went back to Corestone. They used to guard prominent figures, such as elders of the cabinet and ministers of different departments. Spending a few days to protect Kaze and his family was considered something new.

"Get your boys out of my face if you're smart, or I won't play nice anymore." "Oh, feisty!" The old man showed no intention of backing down, however. "But I've seen many kids who talk tough. The question is, are your bones just as tough?" The two goons strode up, even putting a hand on Frank's shoulder. "Stop!" A pale-faced youth strode up just then, bellowing at the old man. He had two towering bodyguards, and the old man did a double take when he saw the youth, and promptly bowed his head respectfully. "Welcome, Mr. Turnbull… Could it be that you know this man?"

the military man said to him before walking to the security guard, who came to alert the old and handcuffing him also. "You know we can talk about this," the old man said to the military, who furrowed his brows at him, a hint of interest showing in his eyes. "What do you mean by that?" The military man asked him before looking at his colleague. "I mean, we can negotiate like real men that we are," the old man said to the military man, a wicked smirk hovering over his face as he saw the interest showing up on the military man's face. From the way he was smiling, it was already clear to the old man that he knew what he was talking about, and he had done it before.

the commander rasped over the comms, his voice filled with a sudden, sharp fear. “It’s a Mack-Quinton original,” Jax said, stepping forward. “We call it the 'Loser’s Weight.' Because it only hits people who think they’re above everyone else.” While the Next Gen held the front, the Old Guard Reapers were operating in the shadows of the southern perimeter. Gordan Chen and Jonas Rex moved with a silence that was more terrifying than the noise of the battle. They weren't using high-tech gravitational weapons or drone swarms; they were using the "Old Guard" grit that had defined the Krauser Kartel for decades.

“Your people have been wrecking my borders. Violating my pack. I think it’s time we had a little chat about that.” “It wasn’t us,” the old man said, his voice rising slightly. “We know nothing of what you speak. This is our home, and we demand that you leave.” I raised an eyebrow. Demand? As if on cue, more rogues began stepping out of their small, shabby quarters, increasing their numbers, forming a loose circle around us. The old man’s chest puffed out slightly as his reinforcements appeared. He lifted his chin, a glint of something resembling confidence flashing in his tired eyes.

The first time I went to the boutique to try on wedding dresses, I stumbled upon the staff playing their game of “Guess the Bride.” The big screen inside was displaying the package my fiancé had reserved. Eager to snag the commission, the makeup artist spoke up first: “I remember the bride is petite and delicate. She looks absolutely stunning in a mermaid dress.” The photographer chime in: “She has straight bangs and two dimples when she smiles.” “Oh, right—and a red mole on her collarbone. She looks best in an off-shoulder gown.” I froze right on the spot. I had waist-length, voluminous waves, no dimples, and certainly no mole. The person they were describing fit my best friend—Charlotte Ho

I didn't even look at their letters of compliance. I didn't need their validation, nor did I care for their sentimentality. I had built my fortress from the very secrets they had discarded in my trash bins, and now, from the absolute apex of the penthouse throne, I would ensure that the Hartley empire never fell into the hands of an entitled, soft child again. The old guard had run out of time, their names were being permanently purged from the master ledger, and the true lineage was officially written in stone.

At our dinner gathering, my best friend, Maya Miller, leaned in with a drunken smirk. "If you find out I'm sharing someone's husband, would you still be my friend?" Before I could answer, Maya kept going. "I didn't miss our lunch yesterday because I was sick," she whispered. "He installed a floor-length mirror, just to try something new with me." She took a sip of her wine. "And that retreat last month? Fake too. His wife just had a baby, so he took me to Aspen instead." I froze in total shock. Maya Miller suddenly burst out laughing. "Oh, come on! I’m totally joking. Look at your face!" I let out a breath and laughed it off. That evening, I drove to the office to drop off files for

I didn't want to call the Alpha an idiot out loud, though. Libbie saw the look on my face and laughed. "Whenever a new Alpha takes the lead, the old guard usually clears out. The advisors who served the previous leader retire, and new people, who are loyal only to the current Alpha, move in." "That makes sense," I said, the pieces clicking together. "I was wondering why my security team was made of retired guys. They’re all in great shape, so it didn't add up." The guards nearby didn't even flinch at the mention of their status, even though I knew they could hear every word we were saying.

"What's behind that door?" The guard looked at his partner and his partner looked back at him but neither of them answered. That alone was suspicious and finally one of them cleared his throat. "Storage." Natasha blinked. "Storage?" "Yes." The guard replied and she looked at the enormous handcrafted door and then back at him. "That seems... excessive for storage." The guard smiled awkwardly. "We store... important things." "What things?" She asked and the guard replied. "...Old things." Natasha folded her arms. "What kind of old things?"